Truth and Justice
by caffinebunny
Summary: The time has come for Dean to pay the piper. Or the Crossroads demon. He gets full marks for trying. BDS/SPN crossover.


Title: Truth and Justice

Author: Trowa B

Beta: Sam-Tony had a gander for me and said that there's no glaring grammar errors and no plot holes you could fit the QM2 through... but then I added some more bits, so if you see anything, holler?

Fandoms: Supernatural and Boondock Saints

Rating: Gen here. Well... not if you turn your head and squint, I guess...

Notes: Aww, shoot... did I really watch BDS 4 times in 3 days? Darn it. I guess I did... This ignores the way the end of S3 went - mainly because I keep wimping out of watching the end of the series.  
Word Count: 1047  
Disclaimer: The prayer belongs to Troy Duffy, as do the Saints. The brothers Winchester belong to Kripke.

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He stared at the pretty brunette resignedly as he heard the baying of her hounds. Of course she wouldn't let him turn himself in; not when she had the chance to see her pets run him down.

He flicked a brow up. "Bitch, please," he sneered. "You think I'm gonna run _now_? Think I'm going to let you make a sport of this?"

She made a moue. "Well, one never knows until one tries Dean-o. Just think what fun it would have been."

Dean rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

"We were thinking just the same thing," a voice drawled from behind Dean; and at that he did jump, spinning to see the owner of the voice with the Irish-by-way-of-the-Eastern-Seaboard accent. "Don't look so surprised, Dean-o. You think people had given up on yez?"

Dean stared at the man, brows drawing down into a frown. He spun back as the crossroads demon whimpered in panic. While the speaker had distracted them, another man; too similar looking not to be related; had put the woman in a headlock. "Now, lass, no use struggling there," he told her, not unkindly, as even her demonic strength failed to free her. "Your body's already dead, so we won't need ta be a-worryin' about the poor lass. Ain't that right, Murph?"

The first speaker – Murph – slunk towards the pair. "Aye," he agreed, pulling out a pistol which, to Dean's practiced gaze, had to be at least a fifty calibre. Despite the nearing sound of baying dogs, he was intrigued. Even in the darkness, he had little trouble seeing either man, as if they were passing directly to his brain while his eyes swore up and down they had seen nothing.

As they pushed the crossroads demon to her knees, she protested but her struggles were kept under control by two guiding hands.

"Wait!" he shouted. "You can't know she's already dead!"

The two men looked at him, gazes calm. "She's been a long time dead," the one who wasn't 'Murph' told him. "Nothing we can do ta change that. But we can be makin' sure she goes ta her rest proper-like." He glanced at Murph, who nodded.

Standing side by side behind the woman, the two men lined their guns up against the back of her head and began to pray in soft, emphatic voices.

"_And shepherds we shall be,  
For Thee, my Lord, for Thee.  
Power hath descended forth from Thy hand,  
That our feet may swiftly carry out Thy command.  
So we shall flow a river forth to Thee  
And teeming with souls shall it ever be.  
In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritūs Sancti"._

The end of the prayer was punctuated by the two guns firing in almost perfect unison, blood spraying in two arcs to either side of Dean as he froze, unable to move in the face of such belief. The woman's body flashed as if she had been shot by the Colt.

Moving as one, the pair caught the descending shell casings from their shots.

He knew who they were now.

"Why me?" he rasped. "Why now?"

'Murph' left his twin placing pennies over the dead woman's eyes, clapping an open hand firmly against Dean's cheek. "The world'll be needin' Hunters, this coming season. Yer brother'll be needin' help. Ya don't get outta yer commitments that easy, lad."

He pulled back a pace, shaking two cigarettes out of a pack and offering the pack to Dean, who reflexively took a cigarette, studying the tattoo on the man's hand as he lit both before smirking and turning to look at something at the side of the road. Dean turned, following his gaze.

He took an involuntary step back, colliding with the gun-toting Saint and would have fallen had Murphy not put out hands to steady him. They were dogs, but like no dogs Dean had ever seen before.

Not that he wanted to see them now, either.

"What're they waiting for?" he asked softly.

The other twin – Connor – leaned on Dean's shoulder, warmth soaking into Dean despite the intervening bulk of a leather jacket and a heavy wool coat. "Us," Connor said as Murphy handed off one of the cigarettes. "They're waitin' fer us ta tell 'em they're good dogs and ta go home."

Indeed, as he spoke, Murphy almost joyfully bounded over to the dogs, dropping to his knees as the hounds moved towards him. "Good dogs!" the twin crowed, making sure to give each hound a hearty pat, rolling on the floor with them like a child playing with normal dogs.

Connor snorted, shaking his head. "Fool," he muttered fondly when his twin rolled to his feet as the hounds took off, their eerie baying starting up again as they moved out of sight. "See ya on the flip side, Dean Winchester," he called, walking towards his twin.

The pair were gone as abruptly as they had appeared. A good thing too, because instants later Dean heard the deep rumbling of his baby and braced himself for Sam's anger at being drugged and left at the motel.

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"The Saints?" Sam demanded, once he had satisfied himself that Dean was ok, after he had punched Dean to the floor for slipping valium into his Chinese takeout and abandoning him at the dingy motel.

Distractedly, Dean nodded, flipping carefully through their father's diary, before pausing on a particular page. "Knew I'd seen those tattoos before."

He turned the page towards Sam.

"Truth and justice?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. On their trigger fingers. And rosaries round their necks. Connor and Murphy McManus. Used to take out mobsters on the Eastern seaboard about twenty years ago. Haven't been reliably reported on in a decade and they show up again now."

Sam was quiet for a long moment. "I think," he said eventually, "that if it was them, they had a reason to start showing up again. Because if you'd been dead when I got there I don't know what I would have done but it wouldn't have been good."

It was Dean's turn to nod wordlessly.

"So does this mean your debt is paid?" Sam asked after the silence stretched.

Dean turned a blank gaze on him. "I don't know Sammy. I really don't know."


End file.
